An Old Friend
by Elina
Summary: !! Chapter FIVE is here: Stupid mistake taken care of!! There's a serial killer on the loose. And he's after one of our own. RATED: Strong PG-13 for now because of the theme, might change to R for descriptions of violence and/or language.
1. One

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A/N: This is my first attempt on this kind of stuff. I mean, sure, I've done angst (anyone who's read my stories, knows that I've _certainly_ done angst *g*), but this is the first time I try this... crime thing, what ever it is that you want to call it. Well, here goes. Tell me to forget about it if it completely sucks.

****

An Old Friend

-Chapter One-

He watched the long blade of the knife gleam in the narrow light of the moon that filtered through the blinds, whirled it around in his hand. It wasn't pure, the blade wasn't. It was smutted with blood. 

He glanced at the two bodies lying on the bed. Oh, they had been sleeping so peacefully, dreaming about their happy lives in the suburb and about their secret fantasies that had nothing to do with it, and then... WHAM! He gloried with the memory of her screaming, surprised and shocked, when he'd done her husband, her husband lying on the bed next to her, she'd screamed when she'd known that she'd be next. Then she shut up. For good. Wham. That annoying little bitch just wouldn't stop screaming. Her fault, it was. She should've stopped screaming years ago and this wouldn't have happened.

He dropped a little note on the bed next to the bodies. 

He had just picked up this little habit of his, he'd only used it once before. He liked the thought that someone who'd look at it would realize 'This is him again'. It made him feel satisfied. "Another one," the note said. Plenty to go, it should've had, but he didn't want to give too much clues. Too much clues would be no fun. He liked to surprise. 

A little happy grin flickered on his face as he put the knife back to his bag and left the house whistling.

***

"What do we have here?" Grissom asked from Brass as he met him on the yard halfway to the house. 

The yard was full of police cars and, even when it was three o'clock in the morning, there were a group of people packed behind the barrier that the cars made. Some officers were interviewing them. Grissom nodded towards the crowd. "Any eyewitnesses?"

Brass shook his head. "No." He started leading the other man towards the house. A little further away he saw Nick Stokes jogging towards them, and he didn't start explaining before he caught up with them. "We have a double murder; a married couple killed into their bed. The man was stabbed to the neck, he was apparently killed immediately. The woman got three stab wounds in her chest."

"Who found them?" Nick inquired.

Brass pointed towards an older woman who was standing next to a police car little further away from the other people. "Their neighbor. Her bedroom is just opposite theirs. She heard the wife screaming and called the police."

"She didn't see anything?"

"No. Just a shadow behind the window. Ready to go in?"

Grissom raised his hands in the air. "Lead the way."

They entered the house. If the yard was crowded, the house was even more so. There were officers all over the place. Brass led them through the hall and to the bedroom. 

The room was painted with light colors and decorated skillfully. It would've been a nice room, charming and calming, if it weren't for one thing; the bed full of blood in the middle of the room. The bodies on the bed seemed as if they were only sleeping, but they were covered with red. They must've been taken completely by surprise. Grissom took a deep breath before stepping in. He had to admit that he'd never get entirely used to seeing corpses.

Then his eyes landed on something. He put his gloves on and took a step closer. It was something white on the pillow where the blood hadn't reached. He leant to pick it up. A note. He read it.

"What is it?" Nick asked. 

Grissom handed the note to him. "I think we have a serial killer in our hands."

TBC....

Ps. Go ahead, review and tell me if I'm going totally wrong with this.


	2. Two

To Peggie: Don't worry, no slash here, I'll find another way of poking at people's nerves this time. *g*

To Barbara: Wait and see, wait and see...

To others: Thanks! *wide, wide grin* (fawkes; don't get ticked off, there's more to come)

To Desoto56 (from the reviews of "A Kiss"; I doubt that you're reading, but since you didn't leave your address...): 

Yeah, it's sick - sick that we live in a 'free' and 'civilized' world where showing a bit of affection is considered a crime. Thank you for your comment, it made my Monday fun. It's always nice to know that we can maintain a mature manner of communication. (I considered replying to you with a long explanation of my reasons, but then I thought "why should I explain myself to you". I'm not forcing you to read my stories, and I have no interest in being brown-tongued; I have opinions and I have no problem with saying them, like them or not. It's a little thing some might call 'the freedom of speech'.)

Okay, on with the show.

****

An Old Friend

- Chapter Two -

Nick stared at the note in his hand and frowned. "Another one," it said written with steady, almost childishly accurate capitals. He glanced at Grissom. "Another? There are others?"

"Brass?"

The detective took a step closer to study the note. "We got a fax this morning talking about a murder that included some note. It happened in a small town east from Las Vegas, near Hoover's. I have to check what it said."

"Yeah, you do that," Grissom said and turned to the bed as Brass left to make a phone call. "So... First of all; how did he get in?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone special. 

***

The warm water poured down his chest as he shampooed his hair. His fingers moved through the hair in specific order; from the top of his head to the back and then behind his ears, back to the top and all over again. Steady, thorough movements that got the shampoo everywhere. He was singing. "_I see trees of green..._" Rinse the shampoo off. Rinse,rinse, rinse. "_...red roses too. I see them bloom..._" Some shower gel into his palm. There. "_For me and you._" Wash under the arms. "_And I think to myself..._" The water was getting colder. He didn't really care. "_What a wonderful world._"

When he was all done, he turned off the shower and wrapped himself into a fluffy hotel towel. Then he walked to the other room with his bare feet flapping against the cold floor. 

There was a folder on the small table that sat in the corner of the small room. It was flipped open. He stopped to look at it. Photographs of two young persons' were staring at him, smiling from the top of the page; the other picture of a boy in his teenage years, the other of a girl of the same age. There were text under the pictures; their names, addresses, where they worked, what were their work hours, names of their closest friends; everything that one needed to know to begin a lovely friendship. 

He took a red pen from the table, grinning at the smiling faces of these youngsters, and started writing under their names. _Paul Kinley, deceased. _He took a pause before he moved his pen to the other page where it read "_Laura Kinley, former Lexon,_" and enjoyed the moment for awhile. After all, she had been one of those people whom he'd hated the most. He pressed the tip of the pen firmly against the paper and wrote carefully: "_Deceased._" Then he turned the page, shutting those two in the depths of the folder, exposing another face and another biography, and crashed onto the bed with a satisfied sigh.

As he turned on the TV, he started singing again. "_What a wonderful world..._"

*** 

Brass clicked the phone shut with a sigh. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. This had been a too slow week in the first place, he reminded himself a bit bitterly even. He took a couple of deep breaths before turning around and heading back to the bedroom. 

He found Grissom kneeling on the floor and studying something next to the bed, so he stopped in the doorway, not wanting to mess up his crime scene. _His_ crime scene, he went back in his thoughts and chuckled. Since when had he started considering the crime scenes as 'his'?

As he heard the chuckle, Grissom turned around. He just shook his head at him, wordlessly telling him to forget about it. Then he realized that looking at the situation, he shouldn't have laughed. "Just thought about something one of the guys said," he tried to explain quickly, but he wasn't sure if he convinced Gris. 

He just shrugged. "Okay." Then his eyes narrowed and he gave a devious glare at something behind Brass. As he turned to glance over his shoulder, he saw a young officer walking past the doorway. "Would you mind getting rid of them? They're messing up the scene." His tone was annoyed. 

"They're only doing their job." Gris shot another look at him. "Okay, okay," Brass lift his arms in the air as a sign of defeat. "I'll tell them to back their stuff and go."

"Thank you."

"Listen, I called the station. And I was right about the fax," he started before Grissom could put his focus back to what ever it was that he had found on the floor. Another look from Grissom, this time asking. "Sam Connors. A busboy in the local diner, in his late twenties. He was found dead from his apartment three nights ago. He was stabbed to death."

That got Grissom's interest. "Stabbed? What did the autopsy say?"

"It was a some kind of a narrow bladed knife. They're sending the castings to us."

"And a note?"

Brass nodded. "Another one," he quoted. He watched as Grissom's expression changed. "I told to send inquiries to every PD to find out if there are any similar cases. I think you were right. I think we're going to find more bodies."

Just then, a voice interrupted them. "Grissom!" Nick shouted from the other end of the hallway. "I know where he came in."

TBC...

Ps. That's all for today, folks. I know, I know, it's short, but that was all I had patience to write. More to come, just wait a little...


	3. Three

fawkes: I'd want them all to myself, too... *g* 

A/N: Sorry, it took this long. I've been trying to wake up my muse. She's awake now, a little dozy, but, still, awake. And: You're not the only ones who are in suspense, my dear readers. I just figured out a perfect almost-ending (and a perfect cliffhanger; hey, it was a package deal), and I'm hardly even halfway there. Damn, I hate it when that happens! I should stop thinking....

****

An Old Friend

- Chapter Three -

The air in the basement was musty and humid as Grissom and Brass followed the young CSI down the squeaking stairs. Their steps echoed from the hard stone walls. "There," Nick pointed to the other side of the room at something above the shelves. 

There was a window; small, but not too small for a human being. It was closed now, but in the frames Grissom could see visible braking marks. "Take a look outside," Nick suggested and Grissom took a step closer, getting on his toes to peek out. "There's the garden. Flowers, trees... Beautiful at day but..." He let his voice trail off and Brass filled in.

"A perfect hiding place at night. No wonder no one saw him."

"And you can't see to that alley from the road. So the killer sneaks through the backyard, forces the window open, goes upstairs..."

"Finds the bedroom and kills them," Grissom concluded. He frowned. "How did he know where to find a perfect entrance, then?"

Nick thought about it for a second as Grissom took a step closer to the window to study it. "He's been here before," he finally stated. 

"Exactly."

"That leaves out random killing."

Gris nodded. "At least it narrows the list." Then, he dug out the tweezers and reached out to the window. Carefully, he opened it. It made a small squeak. 

"What did you find?" Brass asked. 

A small lock of hair was stuck around a small nail in the frame. Grissom picked it up and backed away from the window. As he placed it into a small envelope, he answered: "Evidence."

***

Warrick was sitting in the chair in the brake room with his feet propped up when Catherine entered. With a sigh she walked to the coffee maker and poured herself a cup of steaming hot liquid. Warrick gave her a glance over the news paper's edge. "Anything?"

Her eyebrow shot up. "From Grissom and Nick? No, not a beep." She shrugged. "I guess we're stuck with a quiet night, then."

"Bored?" 

"Nah. Just... Well, actually, I am."

"We'll get to business when they get back." His focus went back to the paper. Her focus went back to the coffee cup. 

There was nothing really interesting in the paper that day. Just something about Local Park Committee which failed to intrigue him. He browsed through the pages with his mind only half-focused on the text. No improvement in the murder investigations of Sam someone, the paper said, the Senate is going to vote for a new tax law, Agassi beat the heck out of someone, nothing on TV, blah blah blah... Even the comics where boring. With a sigh he closed the paper and threw it on the table. Then he leant back in his chair, folding his arms on his chest. Catherine just kept staring right ahead and took slow sips from her cup. 

His foot started tapping the floor. 

The clock struck three thirty just as the door opened. Sara's head peeked in. "Hey, guys. Gris just called, they need an extra pair of hands. See you later." Then, just like that, she was gone again. 

Warrick stared at the door with his eyes wide.

Damn.

*** 

She flicked the car radio open and music filled the air. The drive through the city wasn't long, but still, it seemed like ages. It had been a long night to Sara in every way. The entire city had seemed to be stuck in slow motion. During the past few weeks there hadn't been much to do. Which was a good thing in a sense of humanity, less work means fewer crimes, but it also made her feel guilty to receive her paycheck. Such a moralist she is. No, she just didn't feel like she deserved it when she practically did nothing to earn it.

But this case... This seemed interesting. She got a feeling, a gut feeling that this would be something bigger than just a normal homicide. Grissom had mentioned something about a note when he'd called. She wondered what that could be about. 

As she pulled out in front of the house, the first thing she noticed was how peaceful it looked. For some reason she always expected the scene to look like something had happened. It seldom did, but she still couldn't help expecting it. Every time. It didn't look as if someone had been just killed there. The one-storied building just stood there as if nothing could ever shake it. She shook her thoughts away as she stepped out of the car and grabbed her bag. The long week had made her way too melodramatic. 

She flashed her ID at the officer standing by the door and stepped into the house. It was a calm inside as it was outside, but she didn't let it bother her. 

She found Grissom from the bedroom. "Hey."

Then she took a look at the bodies. 

They'd been sleeping. She could tell. It looked as if the man hadn't put up any fight at all. The sheets around the woman, instead, were slightly crumbled, she'd been struggling a little, but still, she just lay there as if she would wake up any time. They would've looked as if they were _still_ sleeping. 

If it weren't for the blood. 

Grissom's voice broke through her thoughts. "David just left. They're going to take the bodies away soon, so we'd better get moving."

"Yeah, sure," she answered thoughtfully. She couldn't keep her eyes off the woman's face. 

"Sara? You okay?" 

She noticed that she hadn't moved a muscle. Her eyes darted to Grissom and she shrugged. "Yeah. I just... She reminds me of someone."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure. There's just something familiar about her face." She shrugged again, dismissing the feeling and moved further into the room. "It's nothing important."

She put her bag to the floor and opened it. "Okay, where do I start?"

Grissom handed her the camera. She took it and started taking pictures. 

TBC....

PS. Blah, still, nothing works in my head. It's like a freaking desert in there. I should be writing other unfinished stuff too... Again, this turned out to be shorter than intended, but it's a chapter, not a novel. And, excuse me, I'm cranky, because my mind's blank, and I've drunken way too much coffee. _Way_ too much.


	4. Four

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A/N: It took me a while to get back into the writing mode. I still know nothing about science or police work. Medical stuff? Not my area, but if it is any comfort, I've watched my share of Casualty. *g* So just pretend and use your imagination. This chapter is a bit more thoughtful but that's usually the case with my stories anyway, so... 

****

An Old Friend

- Chapter Four -

Dr. David Robbins switched on the lamp that hung above the table and adjusted it into a better position so that it pointed directly at the pale corpse under it. He reached out his hand to the bowl that sat on the little movable table next to him. His fingers grabbed the cloth and pulled it out of the water. A little squeeze and the extra water dripped back to the bowl. He started wiping the dried blood off the body, and soon the once clear water was dark with red. He changed the water and continued.

He hated this part. 

He could deal with dead people, he could deal with wounds and the blood and all that. One grows used to it over time, and time is what he's had plenty of. Burned bodies, sliced bodies, bodies that didn't look anything like human anymore, they didn't bother him. Much. It was the nursing. Cleaning them up and taking care of them. Dead people became alive again, it's the nursing that made them human once again in his eyes. He shook the thought out of his head. God, he was starting to sound like Norman Bates... This was something that had to be done, he reminded himself. 

The cloth moved over the man's upper body with small strokes; across his chest, over his shoulders, carefully wiping the neck and the skin around the wound. Once in awhile he dipped the cloth into the bowl or changed the water when it got red. It took him half an hour to clean his body up.

There were a lot less blood on him than there were on the woman. She was still clothed with an old Mets T-shirt; his, he figured. He took the scissors and carefully cut the shirt open from the backside. The blood had glued the shirt onto her chest and it took a bit of yanking to get it off. He put it into a small plastic bag. He wrote the date and her name on the bag before sealing it. 

His eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. Six twenty-five. What a way to start the day. With a tired sigh he switched on the lamp that hung above the table and adjusted it into a better position so that it pointed directly at the pale corpse under it.

***

6:26

He sipped the steaming hot coffee, not caring that it burned his tongue, and stared out of the window. He had purposefully sat into the window booth so that he could watch the traffic passing by. And, more importantly, so that he could watch the building across the street. 

Another burning sip and he turned his gaze to the notebook that lay on the table in front of him. He felt lucky that day. 

He took his time, accepted the refill with a smile when the pretty waitress offered it and ordered some pie. He waited. It didn't take long before the door of the concrete building flew open and a small group of people stepped out into the dawn. Three men and two women. They started crossing the street to the diner. 

He glanced at his watch. 6:32. He marked the time down. 

***

The door gave a little 'clank' as Nick pushed it open and entered the diner. The others followed him in. Without so much as a thought they walked to the same booth they always occupied and sat down. Warrick waved his hand at the waitress and soon she came to take their orders. None of them had to think at all; they always took the same things. 

Sara had sat next to Grissom to continue their conversation, Nick noticed. Lately it'd seemed that it was always them. Everywhere he looked, it was always them; talking, drinking coffee together... He'd called her, Sara from everyone, to come to the scene to help them out. Sometimes he just couldn't understand what went on with the people around him. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he leant back in his chair, ignoring the fact that their closeness bothered him. He didn't want to wonder about them right now. Instead he started watching around. Considering that it was so early, there were unusually many people in the diner. Not that it was full, just that Nick couldn't remember the last time there were others in there except for them and a half a dozen of truck drivers and couple of early birds. That morning, most of the tables were occupied. People drinking coffee behind their papers. Men with brown or gray suits, mostly, which seemed odd to Nick for some reason. He had gotten used to the truck drivers, he thought with a small smile. 

The conversation between Sara and Grissom continued but Nick had stopped listening to them way back at the CSI headquarters. They seemed to be getting to nowhere; they just debated for the sake of debating; conversation for the sake of not being quiet. They'd been doing that a lot lately. It didn't interest him anymore. It didn't seem meaningful. Not anymore. So, he let their voices flow past his ears and fixed his eyes on the waitress that floated easily from one table to the other, smiling at the customers, refilling their cups, changing a couple of words. She was new; he hadn't seen her more than once or twice before. She was also quite attractive, he noticed. So he watched her float from table to table, smiling, refilling, chatting. She floated to the kitchen and came back with a piece of pie. She took it to the man sitting in the window booth. Her light brown hair dropped to cover her face as she bent to place the plate on the table. The man smiled at her. He was a young man, blond hair, skinny. His smile was bright, though. He said something to the girl that made her chuckle.

Then he turned his eyes. To Nick. And he smiled. A small, disturbing smile directed straight at him across the room. Straight at him. A smile that made it impossible for him to take his eyes of off him. 

"Nick?"

It took a second for him to realize that Catherine was talking to him. "Huh?" His eyes darted at her.

"You okay?"

He glanced at the man in the window booth. He had turned away, staring out of the window and slowly sipping his coffee. He blinked, confused. Had he been just imagining things? He shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"So, what about the autopsy?" Warrick guided the conversation back to the subject. 

Grissom glanced at his clock. "I said I'd stop by after eight. You'll join me?"

"Why not."

"You're signing us all in?" Sara frowned.

"If we ever want to catch this one, we gotta move fast. The last murder was three days ago in another town. The killer doesn't stick around for too long, so we need all the help we can get."

"And we gotta do something to earn our paycheck," Warrick added with a smile.

His smile was responded with a smaller one from Grissom. "Yeah, that's another factor."

The conversation drifted off to lighter subjects eventually, but it didn't help to shake the memory of the man from Nick's mind. He had looked at him as if... As if he knew everything. About him, about them, about anything. It still sent creeps down his spine when he, five minutes later, forced himself to look at where the man had been sitting.

He was gone.

***

Dr. Robbins pulled the gloves off of his hands just as the door swung open. He glanced at the door and saw Grissom and Warrick.

"David," the older man greeted with a nod as they walked to the table. "What did you find out?"

With a deep breath he took the used gloves and tossed them into the bin before facing the CSI's. "A pretty straight forward case," he started and then moved closer to the male body. He gave a little wave at the direction of his neck. "The knife cut the artery. He died instantly. Her in the other hand..." The two men followed as he moved to the other table. He took the female's other hand in his and turned the palm up. "See those cuts?" he asked. "She struggled, tried to protect herself with her hands. There's also bruising on her arms and sides. The husband got surprised, but in the process, the wife woke up enough to put up a fight. I found some skin from under her nails. I sent it to Greg." He put the hand down. "There are three stab wounds in her chest. One just below the left shoulder - didn't do much damage. The other was lower, below the breastbone. The blade entered next to the spine causing severe damage to the liver."

"That killed her?" Warrick spoke.

Robbins shook his head. "No. It was the third cut. It went in here," - he pointed at the middle of her chest - "between the ribs. It ribbed the aorta open." Then he stepped back, giving the CSI's some room. 

"What about the knife?" Grissom asked with a glance at him. 

"The casting is drying. A narrow blade, four to five inches. We'll know better when the casting's done." 

"Anything else?"

"No. No fabric, no hair, nothing."

Warrick shrugged. "Well, at least we have the skin." he said with a sigh. "If only we'd have something to compare it to."

TBC...

Ps. By the time I finished this, it was way too late and way too bizarre. Simply said, it was 1 a.m. Actually, it still is. Hey! Time has stopped! Oh, yeah... I forgot... It was two minutes ago when I finished writing... Yeah...


	5. Five

**(I rewrote this because I just realized that it's supposed to be 8 o'clock or something like that in the morning and there's a scene where a girl comes back from school and the mother is making dinner... Stupid, stupid, stupid... *bangs her head against the wall* Blame it on the exam season.)  
A/N:** Exam season is over once again and I'm back to normal sleeping hours. Which means that I can actually do some writing! Yay! Here's some answers to the lovely reviews that I got (thank you all, they made me very happy *g*), just because I'm too lazy to send e-mail:   
**Jen** (and also an answer to** nr** and all the others who would like to know): I don't like that stalker guy either. He's nasty. And that's why I love writing him. =) You're not completely off the base. Now, I haven't planned everything *that* specific yet, but I have some major N/S subtext in mind, and if I get really excited it might not end up that subtle at all. But, that's what I have in mind. So, yes, in some point there is going to be _something_. Hopefully... Understand? *lol* Yeah, me neither...   
**Barbara:** You'll get your Grissom, don't worry. At least if I don't change my mind too much. See, I have the ending in sight, not entirely but some of it, and it includes some killer/Grissom interaction (my mind got running the other night and I wrote seven pages of their dialogue, though most likely only a quarter of it will actually end up in the story). But I don't know... I'm still keeping everything open._ Everything_ can still change in this point.   
Let's see what else... Oh!   
**Franny:** He's a bad, bad boy...   
**Peggie:** =) I'm glad you stuck around, too.   
  
Who is it? Who's the next victim? I'll say as I've sa   
id before: Wait and see.... *smiles deviously*   
Okay, I'm done for now. Enjoy, and review. Thank you. I'm off. *goes to get some oh so lovely coffee*   
  


**An Old Friend**   
- Chapter Five - 

  
  
The sound of the bass tore up the quiet corridor in steady thumbs. The walls muffled the sound until there was nothing else left than the mind-numbing, hypnotizing vibration that only barely could be recognized as music.   
  
Grissom shook his head with irritation as he approached the source of the noise: the DNA lab. As he got closer, the music got clearer and he could now recognize it as Black Flag, the one that Greg usually played. He could see him through the glass doors, bolting around the room, off the chair and back again, from one machine to another, mouthing the words of the song as he did so - some could've said that he was being hasty and sloppy, Grissom had his doubts sometimes too, but they hadn't seen his results.   
  
Still, he couldn't let him get too out of hands.   
  
"Greg!" Grissom yelped from the doorway, trying to make his voice carry over the music. His own name made the young man whirl his chair around, jerking his head at the direction of the interruption. He gave one look at Grissom's folded arms and a arched eyebrow and reached to flip the music off.   
  
"Hi ya. What can I do for you?" he then greeted with a slight grin that made his eyes sparkle with humor. Today his hair seemed, if possible, wilder than usually and a slight pink glow colored his cheeks due to the bouncing around. Grissom gave a little inner sigh. He corrected his previous thoughts; sometimes he had many doubts about his work effort in this place.   
  
"How 'bout some results on the skin and the hair?" he suggested.   
  
Greg's expression changed back to some what professional as he glanced at the computer that worked its best on the table. "Get back to me in about twenty minutes or so," he reported. Then another smile. "You gotta be patient if you want anything done."   
  
"Well, we can't afford to be patient in this one."   
  
Greg threw his hands up in the air as a mark of surrender. "Okay, keep your pants on! It takes as long as it takes."   
  
"Well, you'd better get back to work then." He started to turn to leave but then gave one last comment over his shoulder. "And Greg... Without the music."   
  
He could hear a small grunt behind him as he left the room.   
  
***   
  
Lily Murdock glanced up from the stove as the kitchen door flew open. A small girl, about nine years old, waltzed in with her ponytail jerking in the air and slumped into the nearest chair. Her lower lip went into a little pout.   
  
"Hi, honey. How would you like your eggs done?" Lily asked her daughter pretending not to notice her mood.   
  
Her little feet started swinging under the chair as she crossed her arms on her chest and grunted: "I'm not going to school today. I hate Ms. Cormick!"   
  
Lindsey rolled her eyes at the wall with a small smile and sighed. "No, you don't, Shelly."   
  
"But mom, I do! She made me sit with Jeff Rafer! He's not nice. He always puts gum into my hair and makes faces and he's totally gross. Ms. Cormick is just being mean. I don't like her."   
  
_"... district of California. --"_ The newsreader in the radio managed to get in as Shelly started pouting again. Lily just shook her head and got back to making the breakfast. Shelly was always so stubborn. She'll get over it, though, after awhile of moping._ "The bodies of Laura and Paul Kinley were found dead from their home here in Las Vegas early this morning."_ That news got Lily's mood down. Poor people. They'd been so young. And she couldn't believe that something like this had happened to someone who lived right next door. She shook her head sadly as the lady went on. _"The police isn't giving any information out at this moment, but requests anyone who saw anything out of ordinary nearby Kinsleys' house at 27 Kingston Drive last night between midnight and three a.m. to contact the nearest police station. -- Then to weather..."_   
  
Shelly little voice broke through Lily's thoughts. "Mom? Was that about the nice lady and mister next door?"   
  
Lindsey turned to look at her daughter's widened eyes. She looked so sad right then. She hadn't even realized that Shelly knew what was going on around the neighborhood today. "Oh, honey..." she sighed and walked to her side. She knelt down by the chair. "I'm afraid it was," she said with a sad smile and Shelly's eyes turned to stair at the floor. "I'm afraid so."   
  
Shelly didn't look at her, just swayed her feet under the chair quietly. "Does that make you feel bad, mom?"   
  
Lily's hand wandered to stroke the girl's hair gently as she spoke. "Yes, honey, it does."   
  
"Mom?" She still kept staring at the floor and her voice was quiet.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
Cautiously, as if ashamed Shelly whispered: "I think I saw something."   
  
Her hand stopped stroking and she stared at the girl with her eyes wide. Shelly looked guilty. "W-what?" When she didn't answer, Lily grabbed her chin gently with her fingers and turned the girl to look at her. "What did you see?"   
  
Shelly blinked a couple of times before she finally opened her mouth. "A man came out of their basement."   
  
***   
  
Greg strode along the corridor with a happy grin on his face. He'd finally done it. It took two hours of overtime but the tests were done now and he was holding the results in his hand. He would just find Grissom and tell him the news and then he'd be off. Free to do what ever he wanted. And, frankly, all he wanted to do was get something to eat and then crash into his bed, bury his head into the pillow and sleep until the night walkers were to crawl out of their hiding places once again.   
  
The fatigue tried to pull his shoulders down, tried to slower his pace, but he refused to give in. Not before the covers were on. So he smiled to himself and held his head up as he rushed through the corridor with the hems of his lab coat flapping against his tights. Finally, from the break room, he found what he was looking for.   
  
Grissom stood there in the middle of the room talking to Sara as Greg pushed the door open and walked in. Both of them turned to look at them, pausing their conversation.   
  
With a proud, satisfied grin on his face, he spread his arms wide in the air as if ready for a big bear hug. "Congratulations! It's a boy!" he blazed.   
  
Apparently, Grissom didn't think it was that funny. "That's it?" he simply asked, and Greg dropped his hands back to his sides.   
  
"Well, he smokes and doesn't use conditioning," Greg continued, still smiling slightly. The smile decreased as Grissom continued looking at him as if he was something weird that had just popped out from a crack in the wall. Greg cleared his throat and continued more seriously, "They match each other but there's nothing else unless you give me something to compare them to."   
  
Grissom gave a small nod. "Fine." His eyes turned back to Sara, wordlessly unpausing the conversation that had been interrupted. "Brass sent officers to circle around the motels and inns, but..."   
  
"...It's a shot in the dark," Sara concluded.   
  
"Exactly. He could be anywhere, sleeping on the streets or in his car." His hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose. Greg could see that this case was rubbing on Grissom's nerves. These kinds of cases always did. Greg knew that he hated the idea of another victim because he was moving too slow.   
  
The sound of the beeper going off startled Greg out of his thoughts. It was Grissom's. He grabbed in and read the message. "Brass," he grunted. He tucked the beeper back into his pocket and nodded towards the door. "Let's go." They both pushed by Greg who was still standing at the doorway. After a couple of steps Grissom turned around. "Oh, Greg..." he said as if he'd just remembered. "Gareth is sick. The replacement can't get here before noon and I need you to cover until that."   
  
_What?_ Greg blinked.   
  
"You'll do that?" One quick arched eyebrow at Greg's direction and, before he could even realize, his silence was interpreted as a 'yes'. "Great. Thanks." The next thing Greg's brains registered was Sara's and Grissom's backs disappearing behind the corner.   
  
As the others were gone and the hallway fell silent again, Greg let his shoulders slump. Damn it.   
  
TBC...   
  
Ps. Okay, that was a pretty lame chapter. I just wanted to get something in from all the point of views and noticed that I hadn't done Greg yet. Well, some more action and crime solving in the next piece. See ya in a while! 


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